another part of the gaol. The prisoner was therefore reconducted to his
ward; and Lucy was just leaving the parlour, when a gentleman entered.
From his dress and appearance she guessed him to be the chaplain of the
gaol; and having ascertained by a timid and respectful enquiry that her
conjecture was well founded, she implored him in the most earnest and
pathetic manner to use his best offices in preparing Wildgoose for
whatever might be the event of his trial. The chaplain answered, that he
had already had many very serious conversations with the prisoner, about
whom she seemed to be so much interested, and that he trusted that he
was properly affected by his awful situation; "He appears," said he,
"never to have been entirely without some impressions of religion,
though his conduct was not sufficiently governed by it; and dreadful as
is the crime with which he is charged, yet it has not the additional
guilt of premeditation. I never dare to build much upon a profession of
repentance occasioned by the near prospect of death; but as far as I can
judge, his repentance is deep and sincere. He is full of shame and
sorrow for having lived in such neglect of God and his laws, and for
having paid no better attention to serious religion. The anguish which
he feels from this last fatal deed is heart-breaking; and it becomes
doubly acute, when he thinks of the desolate condition of her whom his
hand has made a widow. His only hope of forgiveness is founded on God's
mercy in Christ." "May I understand then, Sir," said Lucy, in an eager
though tremulous voice, "that you think that if--if--if he should suffer
for the crime, his eternal interests are safe?" "I dare not say so; it
is not for one sinful and erring mortal to pronounce confidently on the
final state of another. The mercy of God is extended to all truly
penitent sinners, through the atonement of Christ. I hope that the faith
and the repentance of your friend are sincere; but, generally speaking,
repentance under such circumstances must be attended with much of fear
and doubt[g]. As I said before, I hope that the penitence of this poor
young man is such, that it would, if his life should be spared, shew
itself to have been real, by producing the fruits of a holy life; but I
presume not to speak with confidence. Let us both pray to God to perfect
his repentance, and to increase and strengthen his faith." Many
aspirations to this effect had already been fervently offered up by
Lucy, and she renewed them with redoubled earnestness.
[Footnote g: See Note [G.] To which I particularly request attention.]
Lucy was allowed to see Wildgoose frequently. When the anxious time of
trial came, she secured him the assistance of an able lawyer, who
exerted himself in his defence. It was however all in vain. The facts of
the case were so clear, and the evidence so strong, that the jury
without hesitation returned a verdict of guilty. The Judge, after a
short preface, in which he emphatically introduced the words of
Scripture, _whoso sheddeth man's blood, by man shall his blood be shed_,
proceeded to pronounce the awful sentence of the law. He did this in the
most feeling and impressive manner, and many of the audience were in
tears. When he concluded in the solemn words, "The Lord have mercy on
your soul," the prisoner, who during the trial had maintained a steady
but melancholy composure, seemed torn and agitated by conflicting
emotions. After half uttering a deep and smothered groan, however, he in
some measure recovered himself, and was removed from the bar. Lucy, it
may easily be imagined, could not bear to be present at the trial, but
waited in painful and breathless suspense at her lodgings. She thought
that she was prepared for the worst, and had in fact never allowed
herself to encourage any hope; but when the tidings of the sentence
reached her, she felt a sudden mist before her eyes, and fell lifeless
on the ground. The woman of the house kindly gave her every assistance;
but it was long before she came to herself. At length she opened her
eyes, and wildly looking round her, exclaimed, "Where is he? where is
he? they have not torn him from me?" Again her eyes closed; and she lost
the sense of her misery in another swoon. When she was a little
recovered, the people with whom she lodged endeavoured to prevail on her
to go to bed. She was, however, steady in her refusal; and as soon as
her limbs were able to support her, hastened to the prison.
She now found Wildgoose heavily ironed, and additional measures taken
for securing him. They grasped each other's hand in silent agony, and
were long unable to speak. At length Wildgoose exerted himself so far as
to give her a message to his mother and family, and Lucy employed the
little time she was allowed to remain with him, in suggesting such
religious consolation as seemed most adapted to his situation. The next
day, which was Sunday, she received the Sacrament with him. Wildgoose
was calm beyond her expectations; and behaved throughout with a
seriousness and fervour of devotion, which gave her more comfort than
she had yet experienced.
I must spare both myself and the reader the pain of speaking of
the awful scene of the day following. It is distressing even to
think, or to speak of an execution. How is it possible that such
numbers--sometimes, I fear, even women--can seem to take pleasure in
going to witness the last pangs of a fellow-creature, who is condemned
to forfeit his life to the offended laws of his country! I would have
every one pray for, and feel for, the criminal, but on no account seek
to gratify curiosity, by actually witnessing his death.
The following paper was handed about, as the last dying speech of John
Wildgoose.
"I acknowledge the justice of the sentence by which I suffer; and would
have all young men take warning from my example. I attribute my crime
and punishment, in the first place, to my neglect of the Lord's Day; and
in the second, to my keeping bad company. Had I been regular in going to
church, and attentive to my religious duties, I should, under the
blessing of God, have preserved and increased the good impressions,
which I had received from my parents. These impressions, however, I
suffered to wither away. By keeping bad company I was led into
_poaching_, in which I at first thought there was not much harm. When by
a kind friend I was convinced that it was wrong, the want of firmness
in religion prevented me from giving it up. Poaching made me the
companion of sabbath-breakers, swearers, drunkards, and thieves; and at
last led me on to the dreadful crime of murder. May God support and
comfort the poor woman whom my hand has robbed of a husband, and the
dear and excellent parent, whom the same rash action has deprived of a
son; may He make my sad fate productive of good to all who hear of it;
and may He have mercy on my own soul through Jesus Christ!"
As soon as Lucy had recovered her strength sufficiently to enable her to
travel, she went to her native village, where she found that Mrs.
Wildgoose had passed the crisis of her disorder, and was beginning to
recover. Her two daughters were most attentive to her; but Lucy obtained
permission to assist them in nursing, and to take her turn in sitting up
by her bed-side during the night. When the poor woman's health was in
some degree re-established, Lucy felt it right to return to her kind
mistress; but her cheerfulness and good spirits had entirely forsaken
her, and a settled melancholy seemed to have taken possession of her
soul. Her only comfort is in prayer, and the consolations of religion.
After a confinement to her bed of several weeks, Susan Wildgoose was at
length able to move about her house; and the wants of herself and family
forced her to return to her former occupations: but she hardly spoke to
any one; she served her customers in silence; and it is evident that the
deep affliction under which she continually labours, will shortly bring
her to the grave. Her daughters and surviving son have youth and health
on their side; but their behaviour and appearance are totally changed:
and instead of being merry and light-hearted, they have become pensive
and serious. Time will wear away much of the acuteness of their grief,
but it is probable that, as long as they live, they will never be free
from the most painful and distressing recollection, that they have had a
brother who was executed as a murderer.
_N.B. This Tale is sold as a Tract, price 9 d._
NOTES.
_The following Extracts from Acts of Parliament are much abridged._
[Footnote A.:
If any higler, carrier, inn-keeper, &c. shall have in his possession, or
shall buy, sell, or offer for sale, any hare, pheasant, partridge, or
grouse, every such higler, &c. unless such game be sent by some person
qualified, shall forfeit for every hare, pheasant, &c. the sum of five
pounds, half to the informer, and half to the poor. 5 Ann. c. 14. s. 2.]
[Footnote B.:
If any person whatsoever, _whether qualified or not qualified to kill
game_, shall buy any hare, pheasant, partridge, or grouse, he shall, on
conviction before one justice, forfeit 5_l._ half to the informer and
half to the poor. 58 G. III. c. 75. s. 1.
Any person may recover the said penalty by information, or may sue for
and recover the _whole for his own use_, in any court of record, wherein
the plaintiff if he recovers shall have double costs. Sect. 3.]
[Footnote C.:
If any person shall enter any park or paddock, fenced in and inclosed,
or into any garden, orchard, or yard, adjoining or belonging to any
dwelling house, and shall steal any fish kept in any water therein; or
shall be assisting therein; or shall receive or buy any such fish,
knowing the same to be stolen; and at the Assizes be convicted of such
offence, he shall be transported for seven years. 5 G. III. c. 14. s. 1,
2.
And if any person shall take or destroy, or attempt to take or destroy,
any fish, in any other inclosed ground, being private property, without
the consent of the owner, he shall upon conviction by one justice
forfeit 5_l._ to the owner of the pond or fishery, and, in default of
payment, shall be committed to the house of correction for any time not
exceeding six months. Sect. 3, 4.]
[Footnote D.:
Whenever it shall appear to the justices, or to the overseers, to whom
application shall be made for relief of any poor person, that he might,
but for his _extravagance_, _neglect_, or _wilful misconduct_, have been
able to maintain himself, or to support his family, it shall be lawful
for the overseers (by the direction of the justices, &c.) to advance
money to the person applying, by way of _loan_ only, and take his
receipt for, and engagement to repay, (without stamp;) upon default of
payment, two justices may commit him for not exceeding three calendar
months. 59 G. III. cap. 12. sect. 29.]
[Footnote E.:
If any person shall knowingly and wilfully kill, take, or destroy any
hare, or use any gun, dog, snare, net, or other engine, with intent to
kill, take, or destroy any hare in the night, (or in the day time, upon
a Sunday or Christmas-day,) he shall on conviction, on oath of one
witness, before one justice, forfeit for the first offence not exceeding
20_l._ nor less than 10_l._; and for the second not exceeding 30_l._ nor
less than 20_l._]
[Footnote F.:
If any person or persons, having entered into any park, wood,
plantation, or other open or inclosed ground, with intent illegally to
take, or kill, game, or rabbits, or to aid and assist in so doing, shall
be found at night armed with any gun, fire arms, bludgeon, or any other
offensive weapon, such person being lawfully convicted, shall be
adjudged guilty of a misdemeanour, and shall be sentenced to
transportation for seven years, or such other punishment as may be
inflicted on persons guilty of misdemeanour; and if any such offender
shall return before the expiration of such term, he shall be sentenced
to transportation for life. 57 G. III. cap. 90. sect. 1.]
[Footnote G.:
_Extracts from Stonhouse's "Sick Man's Friend," on a Death-bed
Repentance._
Bishop Burnet, in his excellent book entitled the Pastoral Care, (page
173, of the fourth edition,) says, "A clergyman ought to give no
encouragement to men, who have led a bad course of life, to hope much
from a death-bed repentance; yet he is to set them to implore the
mercies of God in Christ Jesus, and to do all they can to obtain his
favour. But unless the sickness has been of long continuance, and that
the person's repentance, patience, and piety, have been very
extraordinary during the course of it, he must be sure to give him no
positive ground of hope, but leave him to the mercies of God. For there
cannot be any greater treachery to souls that is more fatal and
pernicious than the giving quick and easy hopes, upon so short, so
forced, and so imperfect a repentance. It not only makes those persons
perish securely themselves, but it leads all about them to destruction,
when they see one, of whose bad life and late repentance they have been
the witnesses, put so soon in hopes, nay by some unfaithful guides made
sure of salvation. This must make them go on very secure in their sins,
when they see how small a measure of repentance sets all right at last:
all the order and justice of a nation would be presently dissolved,
should the howlings of criminals and their promises work on juries,
judges, and princes. So the hopes that are given to death-bed penitents
must be the most effectual means to root out the sense of religion from
the minds of all who see it. Therefore, though no dying man is to be
driven to despair, and left to die obstinate in his sins, yet, if we
love the souls of our people, if we set a due value on the blood of
Christ, and if we are touched with any sense of the honour or interests
of religion, we must not say any thing that may encourage others, who
are but too apt of themselves, to put all off to the last hour. We can
give them no hopes from the nature of the Gospel covenant; yet, after
all, the best thing a dying man can do is to repent. If he recover, that
may be the seed and beginning of a new life, and a new nature in him:
nor do we know the measure of the _riches of God's grace and mercy_."
"When," says Dr. Assheton, page 45 and 46 of his Death-bed Repentance,
"you visit sick beds, and hear a poor dying creature lamenting his sins
with tears, and most earnestly begging pardon for the sake of Jesus
Christ; when you observe how passionately he resolves, that if God will
but spare him, he will become a new man, and never be guilty of such
extravagance; what do you say or do in such a case? Nay, what must such
a wicked man do, who having lived in sin, shall thus happen to be
surprised by death? Dare you be so uncharitable as to declare that he is
past hope, that there is no remedy, but that he will certainly be
damned? I answer, that I dare not presume to limit God, whose mercies
are infinite. In such a case I will not censure him, but admonish and
instruct him to the best of my judgment and abilities. I will exhort the
dying sinner to remember his sins, to bewail them, to beg pardon for
them, to form firm resolutions of amendment, and (when there is
occasion) to make restitution; and having prayed earnestly for him, and
recommended him to God's mercy, do I _then_ say such a one will be
damned? No, I _dare_ not. But do I say he shall be _saved_? No, I
_cannot_. What then do I resolve? What do I determine in this matter? I
will be silent, and determine nothing; for as I dare not flatter him
into a false and groundless presumption, so neither would I sink him
into the horror of despair. I say, I will determine nothing: I will
judge nothing before the time. However, I must be so faithful to my
ministerial office as to admonish this dying sinner, that the Gospel (by
the laws of which we are to be judged) expressly declares, that "without
holiness no man shall see the Lord," and that Christ is the author of
eternal salvation unto them (and to them _only_) who obey him. _Heb._ v.
9. When therefore the sick man has been vicious and extravagant all his
life long, if God accepts his dying _resolutions_, it is more than he
has _promised_, and it is more than he has given his ministers power to
_preach_ and _declare_."
Repentance is a change of heart from an evil to a good disposition; no
man can justly be called a true penitent, till his heart be thus
changed, and whenever that change is made, repentance is certainly
complete.
Now there is reason to conclude, God will consider that life as amended,
which would have been amended if he had spared it. Repentance in the
sight of man cannot be known but by its fruits. The only way man can
judge is by the rule Christ himself has given us, "by their fruits ye
shall know them." _Matt._ vii. 20.
But God (our great Creator) sees the fruit in the _blossom_ or in the
_seed_. He (and He _only_) knows those resolutions which are _fixed_;
those conversions which would be lasting; and will receive such as are
qualified by holy desires for works of righteousness, without exacting
from them those _outward_ duties, which the shortness of their lives
hindered them from performing. All, therefore, a minister can do, is to
recommend a _death-bed_ penitent to the mercies of God. But it is
impossible for _him_ to pronounce what will be his state in another
world.]
THE
SMUGGLER.
ADVERTISEMENT.
It is possible that in the following little Tale there may be several
inaccuracies with regard to the habits and manners both of seamen, and
of smugglers. The residence of the author in an _inland_ county must be
his apology.
The similarity in some respects of the offence of smuggling, to the
illegal pursuit which forms the subject of the preceding Tale--written
two years ago--must be the author's excuse for the recurrence of similar
sentiments and expressions.
_Jan. 1823._
[Illustration]
THE
SMUGGLER.
It was the latter end of the month of November, when Mary Waldron,
having carefully put her two children to bed, sat down with an aching
head and a heavy heart, to wait for the return of her husband.
He had sailed from Folkestone in a stiff half-decked vessel, in company
with eight or ten of his sea-faring companions, and then told his wife
that she might expect him back on the day following. But that day and
another had passed away, and he was still absent.
The night was dark and tempestuous. The wind howled mournfully round the
house; the rain beat hard against the windows; and whenever the storm
seemed lulled for a moment, the continued roar of the waves, as they
broke on the shingly beach, came heavily on her ear. She tried to occupy
herself in mending one of her husband's fishing jackets; but her hands
and the jacket were constantly in her lap, and it was with difficulty
that from time to time she was able in some degree to rouse herself.
At length, wearied out with watching and anxiety, and her candle having
nearly burnt to the socket, she lay down on the bed in her clothes, and
was just falling into an unquiet slumber, when she was waked by a
knocking at the door. She hurried down stairs, and let in her husband,
who was accompanied by a short stout-built ill-looking man, in a rough
seaman's jacket, from one of the pockets of which peeped forth the butt
end of a pistol. Both were wet and tired, and both seemed sullen, and
out of temper. At their first entrance, Mary eagerly cried out, "Oh!
James, I am so glad to have you home again. I have passed a sad
wearisome time since you went." But Waldron received his wife's greeting
coldly, and almost in silence. He walked up to the fire place, and,
stooping over the embers, began drawing them together, at the same time
telling his wife to get a bit or two of wood, and then to warm a little
beer. His companion had under his arm a large bundle, tied round with a
piece of sail-cloth. "At least we've got that safe," said James, placing
it in one of the chairs: and he then ordered his wife to put it under
the bed for the night, and to carry it early in the morning, before it
was quite light, to Mrs. Hawker's shop, near the church. "I," added he,
"shall be glad to lie in bed a bit, after being up three nights
running." When they had finished their beer, the stranger withdrew; and
Mary, after uttering a fervent prayer for all who are in peril by land
or by water, and for the bringing back to the right way of those who
have strayed from it, retired to rest.
Early the next morning, Mary, in compliance with her husband's
directions, carried the sail-cloth bundle to Mrs. Hawker, who received
it with one of her most gracious smiles, while her little black eyes
sparkled with satisfaction. She immediately took it into a back parlour,
and then returning to the shop, pressed Mary Waldron to take a glass of
something comfortable. This Mary declined, and immediately hastened
home, carrying with her a loaf for her husband's breakfast.
She found him still asleep, and the eldest of the two children trying to
keep his little sister quiet, that she might not disturb him. At
length, towards eleven o'clock, he got up, and the refreshment of a
night's rest, a comfortable breakfast, and the active though quiet
assiduity of his wife, seemed to have restored him to good humour. "We'd
a roughish time of it last night," said he. "Yes, indeed," replied Mary;
"and I wish, my dear James, you did but know a hundredth part of what I
have suffered since you took to your present way of life." "Why should
you be more uneasy now," said James, "than when I was nothing but a
fisherman? We were then often out night after night, and sometimes in
rough weather too." "To be sure, I used now and then to be a little
anxious," said Mary, "but you were seldom out when it blew hard, and
besides"--she hesitated a little--"besides--don't now be angry with me,
James, for saying it--I felt then that you were trying to get your
living in a lawful and honest way. Now when you are absent, my thoughts
run upon all horrible things. I do not think so much of the perils of
the wind and the waves, though that is bad enough, as of the chance of
your being taken as a smuggler, or of your doing some dreadful deed in
order to escape. They tell me, that the preventive-service men keep a
sharp look out."
"A pretty deal too sharp," said Waldron, "I can tell you; if it had not
been for them, we should have been back to Folkestone the night before
last. We were to have landed our tubs just beyond Dimchurch, and had
made a signal for the men to be ready with the horses to meet us. There
was a thickish fog at the time; but still, these fellows somehow got
sight of us, and pulled off in their boat, just as we were nearing the
land. Jack Spraggon, the man that was here last night, proposed sinking
them; but, though they deserved it, I was not quite bloody-minded enough
for that. We had nothing else to do, therefore, but to put about, and as
the wind blew off shore, we soon by the help of the fog gave them the
slip. As it was of no use to think of landing then, we stood right out
to sea. The wind soon after chopped about, and freshened to a gale. When
we were nearly off Folkestone, a Dane merchantman had managed to run
aground at some distance from the shore. The king's men--I must say
_that_ for them--are always ready enough to help any ship in distress,
and dashed away to take the poor fellows off the wreck. And while they
were busy at this job, two of our boats came out to us, and put us and
part of our cargo on shore in East Weare Bay--just under the red and
white cliff there, under the signal house. As ill luck would have it,
one of the men on the look out saw us, and gave the alarm. We soon
knocked him down; but the rest of them got together so fast, that we
were forced to run for it, leaving our tubs behind. I kept hold,
however, of my bale of silk, and Jack and I scrambled up one of the
winding paths in the cliff, and got clear off."
"Oh! James," said Mary, "how many risks do you run since you've taken to
this free-trading, as you call it."
"Nonsense," replied Waldron, "a seaman's wife must never talk of
danger."
"I feel," replied Mary, "as if I could almost consent to your braving
any danger in a good cause; but the cause that you are now engaged in is
not a good one."
"Not a good one! Why where's the harm, I should like to know, in buying
in France a little brandy, or a few silks, or cambric, or laces, or what
not, and selling them cheap in England, without going through all the
trouble and expense of the custom-house?"
"There _must_ be harm," said Mary, "in constant opposition to the laws
of the land; there _must_ be harm in living with such wicked men, as you
now keep company with."
"Why, to be sure," replied Waldron, "the consciences of some of our
free-traders are not over-scrupulous, but there are indifferent
characters in all professions; and as for breaking the laws, I don't see
much harm in that--I'm sure the laws do me no good."
"And what else but the laws," said Mary, "protect your house from
plunder, and your wife and children from violence, when you are far
away? But I don't pretend to argue the matter, nor is it necessary that
I should; you know the word of God."
"Come, come," retorted James, with a good deal of quickness and ill
humour, "don't be trying to come over me with your lecturing and cant."
"Oh! my dear, dear James," said Mary, with much earnestness, "if you
love me, do not let me again hear you call the mention of the word of
God by the name of cant. You used formerly to keep your church, and you
still sometimes read your Bible; surely the evil men with whom you have
associated lately have not taught you to deny the authority of the
Scriptures?"
"Why no," said James, "it's not quite so bad as that; but what do the
Scriptures say about the laws, or about smuggling?"